Castle Fortress 2
by thatzerogirl
Summary: Halloween is upon us, and since there need to be more Demoman-goes-on-whirlwind-adventure fics, I thought I'd have a go. It has cranky magicians, monsters, massive castles, cramped apartments, haunted swords, high explosives and a batty sidekick in the form of a certain Miss Pauling. Rated T for TF2. No romance, but there will be a Scout equipped with horrible pickup lines later.
1. Chapter 1

Erm, uhm... Hi, I'm Zero.

This is my first fiction, so any and all criticism is welcomed, nay, begged for!  
Updates will be very irregular, by the way.

Happy halloween, and I hope you enjoy the fic!

* * *

**CASTLE FORTRESS 2**

"Demoman... Wake up Demoman..."

A voice, high-pitched and british-accented, rung through the darkness.

Demoman lay sprawled on the old four poster, clutching a bottle of scrumpy in one hand and his trusty claymore, the Eyelander, in the other. He scoffed, turned over, and huddled his one eye closed, trying to get that annoyingly high-pitched voice out of his precious drunken sleep.

"MISTER DEGROOT AWAKEN IMMEDIATELY OR YOU WILL BE FIRED." The voice suddenly screeched.

Demoman's eye flew wide open, he shot up quickly into a sitting position, his head still spinning from the alcohol and now throbbing from a hangover that was starting to bloom just at the front of his skull. He looked around blearily, not caring about the room he was in; a dark, musty guest bedroom with the singular redeeming feature of a large, comfortable four-poster bed and a small candelabra glowing cozily on the meagre bedside table. Though, to the drunken scottish cyclops, that irritatingly english voice was familiar... He listened hard, trying to find the source of the voice. But the only living thing his eye landed on in the dark, dank room was a bat that lopsidedly flitted far too close to his head for his liking. He shrugged, thinking it was all probably his brain playing tricks on him, took a swig from the brown bottle and settled back down to try and get back to sleep.

"TAVISH!" the voice screeched again.

"Wot?!" he yelled back, at nobody in particular. The bloody bat was still flying around his head, it was beginning to seriously annoy him, and it wasn't even daybreak yet. "Can ye nae see tha' I'm tryin' te sleep here?!" he shouted, crossly.

"No time to sleep now Mr. Degroot, you have a job to do!" the voice squealed.

"Who're you te wake me up, tellin' me te get t'work? Tha's Sol's job!" he yawned, feeling the headache hit him full force. He grimaced, drawing the bottle to his lips for another sip.

"Mr. Doe isn't here." the voice squeaked again, and Tavish could hear the stress and anxiety that ran through it, as though it had been stretched taut like a violin string.

"Oh, aye? Then where is he?" he slurred back.

"_I. Don't. Know."_ the voice snarled through gritted teeth. The bat flapped its wings even harder. The noise was starting to make Tavish rather annoyed now, he wished he could find the source of the voice so he could shut it up with a nice little homemade nitroglycerin bomb present of goodwill. But it still sounded so much like he'd heard it before someplace, but _where could it have been_?

"Then could ye git someone else te wake me up please? Thanks, mate." he slurred, hoping that would make whoever it was talking to him leave so he could get back to sleep and get rid of his hangover.

"Nobody else is here either, _mate_. Please get up." the voice said.

"Fine, 'ave it your way." Tavish held up his hands in defeat, hoisting himself up to a sitting position. He couldn't make out any real detail of the room he was in, anything that was in it, or even the size. _Fucking depth perception..._ he thought to himself, cursing his one eyed existance. The only thing he was actually certain of was that their was no other person in the room other than himself and that blasted bat, fluttering as furiously as ever.

"Where th' bloody hell are ye, though?" he said, eye wandering around the room, blinking blearily in the dim light.

"Right here." said the voice, still as high pitched as ever, as though its owner had been sucking on helium. The demoman looked around, but saw no one, still that blasted bat, whom he could've sworn was starting to look a little fatigued from all that annoying flapping around aimless. Or maybe... _No._ Thought Tavish. _Bats can't talk, I'm nowhere near drunk enough. Right? _Still unsure, the scot looked around blindly, hoping to catch a trace of movement from something living that wasn't a bat. God, it was getting annoying.

"Wot? Where? I cannae see ye, lad. Are you cloaked or somethin'?" he slurred helplessly.

"Ugh. I am not a 'lad', Mister Degroot. I am, in your horribly grating dialect, a 'lass'. And I am not cloaked. I am literally right here in front of your _face. _And I need your help. Can you please not be... that kind of person right now?" the voice sighed irritably.

Tavish now finally understood that the voice wasn't just awkwardly high for a man, but in fact belonged to a woman. He slowly nodded his head in realisation, but with that revelation another confusing question arrived out of the alcohol-induced fog in the front of his mind that made his brows slowly knit together: had he heard this voice somewhere before? As he thought this, The bat slowed down to a wonky hover a few feet in front of the confused scot who wracked his brains for any type of answer to where the woman was that didn't sound like it was coming from a stupid, lost six-year-old coming off anaesthetic.

"Erm..." he said meekly, "are ye behind th' bat?"

"AAAAARGGHH!" the voice cried, the owner finally snapping in anguish. The bat dive bombed him, hitting him square in the chest with full force enough to knock him on his back again. Demoman yelled out in surprise, and groped for his sword, his free hand letting go of the bottle and flailing wildly to get the disgusting creature _out of his face_, all the while still screaming muddled profanities in shock. The caramel-coloured liquid in the bottle spilt all over the sheets, the smell of apples and alcohol beginning to mix with the musty air. It rolled off the bed and clunked onto the ground, the thick brown glass barely chipping on the half-rotten floorboards.

Finally, the Demoman had a grip in the handle of the four-foot blade, and swung it blindly, clipping the bat on the wing. It screamed in pain, and that's when it finally hit Tavish like a shovel to the face: the person speaking to him _was_ the bat. But surely... No. Unless...

"I AM THE BAT!" screamed the bat, now writhing on her back on the sheets, dark red blood pooling together with the strong smelling drink. Tavish looked on, stunned. He picked the bat up out of the mess, holding her up to his face by her claw-like feet. She looked tired and furious, her inky-coloured, almost purple fur messy and dripping with the pungent sweetness of the scrumpy and coppery scent of blood. Her breathing was heavy with fatigue, and her almond-shaped black eyes glinted in anger and wonder that how another human being could be _this dense_.

"Bloody 'ell." the demoman muttered, slack jawed in shock.

* * *

Meanwhile, in a horrible little apartment's cramped back room, a dim light was emitting from a skull-sized crystal ball, the events in the room with the four poster bed reflected in it like a mirror. A man sat hunched over the ball, his beady white eyes peering at the man with the eyepatch and the talking bat; all-seeing, all knowing and all infuriated-that-his-idiot-roommate-hadn't-taken-out-the-trash-in-three-weeks-and-now-the-apartment-was-starting-to-smell-like-rotten-halibut.

The dark-clothed man watched the one-eyed explosives expert take the pillowcase off a large feather pillow, coughing as a fine layer of dust puffed into the air with the movement. He eyed him dry the sopping wet bat off, tousling her fur, her eyes closing in pain and reluctant comfort as the grimy cloth clumsily worked at her fur to get her dry again, and he looked on as the massive sword was used to cut long strips of fabric from the other pillowcase and wrap it tenderly around her injured wing. He listened to them, cautiously interested in the pair's confused conversation.

He only got past the first few words when a harsh, midwestern accent roared for "MERASMUUUUS!" from somewhere in the apartment, interrupting the tranquil peace, snapping the shrouded man with a goat skull perched precariously atop his head from his quiet brooding.

"WHAT IS IT, YOU VILE HEATHEN?" the magician yelled back at the top of his lungs, his voice grandiose and ostentatious despite the cheap, cramped surroundings.

"YOU HAVEN'T COOKED DINNER YET! HURRY UP!" the voice continued. Merasmus sighed at his idiot roommate's irritating presence.

"NOT UNTIL YOU TAKE OUT THE TRASH, JANE!" he roared back.

His roommate wasn't letting up. "DID SUN TZU EVER TAKE OUT THE TRASH BEFORE HE ATE? NO! HE HAD HIS LAYABOUT ROOMMATE DO IT FOR HIM! NOW COME DOWN HERE BEFORE I HAVE TO TAKE DISCIPLINARY ACTION!"

Merasmus put his fingers to his eyes, rubbing them exasperatedly. This was going to take a while...

"CAN YOU NOT WAIT?! I HAVE WORK TO DO!" he eventually yelled.

"A MAGICIAN ISN'T A REAL JOB!"Jane screamed back. Merasmus took offense.

"YES IT IS!" he cried.

"LAZY HIPPIE!"

"DROP DEAD, YE MALODOROUS APE!"

After this short, heat-filled exchange which ended as soon as the flimsy wooden door to the apartment slammed shut, the magician tuned back to the crystal ball, looking back upon the demoman and his new talking bat companion. He chuckled maliciously.

"Well." he said menacingly. "Looks as though two naughty little children have stayed up past their bedtime." He waved his hand over the crystal ball, revealing a dark, ironclad jail cell. Its wall rattled as the beast within charged against the rusted bars, blocked by a thin wall of impenetrable magic. Merasmus smiled.

"This'll wipe those stupid smirks off the faces of those other card-tricksters at the convention..."

* * *

"So, then." began the Demoman. "Have y'always been a bat, or is this new?". Said bat was now swinging idly from the hilt of the large claymore, now run halfway into the bed to serve as a perch of sorts.

"I was human before... How I've turned into a bat is not something I remember very well, it's... fuzzy, no pun intended. I believe it is the work of some sort of magic." the bat said. "That's why I need your help. I hear that you have knowledge of... this sort of thing. Surely you can help me become human again?" she cocked her head to the side.

"Ach, no ma'am. I cannae help ye with yer problem. My field's cryptozoology, not transmorphiguration. Might pay t' ask a magician, but th' only one who comes to mind... well, les'say we're not exactly friends." Demo said. "An' by 'not exactly friends' I mean he's responsible fer _this_." he continued, lifting up his eyepatch to reveal... nothing.

It was just a blank patch of stretched skin over the now empty socket where his eye used to be. If bats could make expressions of extreme disgust and disturbance, then this bat was sure as hell making one, and then some.

"Bloody hell, Tavish, put that away!" she cried, covering her eyes with one wing. The lowered the patch as he looked stupidly at the fuzzy talking animal in front of him. Then, it sank in that whoever this bat used to be, probably knew him.

"Oi oi oi, wait. How'dye know me name?" he blurted out suddenly, "Do I know ye?" The bat looked at him as though he'd sprouted another head. "Is just tha' me memory's not exactly the greatest, is all." he continued, scratching the back of his head confusedly.

"...It took you three quarters of the chapter to figure that out? Bloody hell, all that alcohol must have really done a number on you." the bat spluttered, shaking her head, disappointed at his utter density as a human being. "Of _course_ you know me! You came to see me when you took up your job at RED!" she cried. Demoman's eye wandered as he wracked his brains. Something was clicking, but he didn't know what... "Oh come ON! Surely you can remember me? What was it you said a few months ago... erm... 'Works for the angry lady who yells at you when you fight?'" the bat said again, hoping desperately she was making something work in his scrumpy-flooded memory banks.

It hit the demoman like a bottle to the back of the head. His eye narrowed.

"Oh aye, I remember ye now. Ye gave me this sword so I could kill me best mate. Miss Pauling, aye?" he snarled, gripping the hilt of the blade, poised to rip it out of the musty bed. She nodded, burying her nose in her wings in fright. He brought his face close to hers, close enough she could see the yellow, bloodshot white of his deep brown eye, smell the overpowering stench of haggis and alcohol on his breath. If there was ever a time in Miss Pauling's life where she was truly afraid of death, it was now. Her already fast-beating heart, changed with the spell when she turned into a bat, now drummed furiously against her tiny ribcage, almost threatening to shoot right out of it. She gulped, scared. _Please don't kill me, please don't kill me, please don't kill me... _played over in her head like a mantra, tears beginning to come to her eyes in fear of death at this deranged man. Nothing could have prepared her for what the scotsman said next. "You, lassie, owe me a _refund_." he growled.

"Wh-whaaaaaaaaaaat?!" squeaked Miss Pauling in shock.

"You. Owe. Me. A. Refund!" he yelled again, shaking the sword. Miss Pauling just gaped. "Fer losin' the battle against me own best pal! I should'a won it!"

"W-well then." she stuttered, "Just... I- I'll add it to your pay, I suppose."

"Good stuff. If ye don't, I'll come round to yer house an' blow yer front doors in!" he yelled. Externally, she shivered in fright, nodding quickly in accordance. Internally, she breathed a haggard sigh of relief, a small attempt at a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. She hoped that that would be the end of that.

"Right!" shouted the Demoman, springing up from the bed dramatically, looking around, peering into the dark, dank, musty old room. "Where in bloody hell are we?"


	2. Chapter 2

CASTLE FORTRESS 2 - CHAPTER 2

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Hello internet, thank you all SO much for taking time to check my story out, I am so flattered that you people have read and favorited and followed and reviewed this, it all just means so much to me that you've taken the time to check it out. Seriously. I love all of you.

Okay, back to business. This is the second chapter, in which shenanigans actually ensue and there's mystery and intrigue and spookiness; or at least an attempt at writing it. YAY PLOT PROGRESSION! Again, please do read, review and concrit this thing, I always love hearing about what I can do better in my writing.

Also, because I was an idiot and forgot to do this in the first chapter...

DISCLAIMER: I don't own TF2. If I did, then I wouldn't be walking everywhere, I would've hired the Heavy to carry me on his shoulders from place to place.

* * *

CHAPTER 2: DEMOMAN AND MISS PAULING FIND SOMETHING IMPORTANT.

As the door to the apartment's second bedroom slammed shut behind the mentally deficient 'military man' his goat-skull wearing roommate breathed a sigh of relief. Now, he could really get back to work. He checked the crystal ball one last time to check if his two 'prisoners' had somehow managed to find the key hanging on a hook outside the window. Finding the pair still blindly fumbling about the room trying to find an exit and failing; he took the old parchment scroll lying beside the polished crystal and snuck into the second bedroom silently.

It was all Merasmus could do not to laugh at the ridiculous display on the bare mattress that the Soldier had the gall to call a bed. On it, Jane lay unconscious, helmet askew, arms and legs curled protectively around the launcher like it was a teddy bear, twitching languidly like a dog's in time with his dreams. The bloody, dirty military jacket Jane was never seen without was draped over him like a blanket, tucked up to his chin like a child; albeit one that was snoring like a chainsaw, mumbling audibly about sensible haircuts in his sleep. If Jane could somehow have seen a picture or short video of the way he'd slept that night, he would have flown into an embarrassed rage.

Merasmus bit his clenched fist hard, trying to bury the snigger that was beginning to come to life in the back of his throat. He straightened himself up, trying to hide his wicked grin and replace it with a serious, about-to-cast-a-curse-that-will-raise-all-absolute-hell expression. He raised his hand in his roommate's direction, unrolled the ragged parchment, and began to read.

He barely got past the first syllable before he burst out laughing like an asthmatic hyena.

At this, Jane shot up from the ragged foam, hauled the launcher to his shoulder and sent a rocket flying into the wall with a deafening explosion that simultaneously shattered all the windows in the house, and blew a new "door" in the wall. He then promptly dropped back down on the mattress and resumed sleeping, as though nothing had happened at all.

Merasmus, who was now knocked sideways into the corner, picked himself off the floor and sheepishly shook the rubble from his cloak. He made a mental note to kick the Soldier out of the apartment at the earliest opportunity. But first, there was work to be done...

He picked up the parchment, straightened the skull atop his head, resumed his pose, and began to read the spell again, properly this time. He couldn't risk the possibility of a direct hit if Soldier let off another rocket in his sleep.

"**Blazbo Barrabus**! Ye filthy swine!

The laundry's yours, you insist it's mine!

You take my heart medication, break my staff,

I attempt to take action and yet you just laugh!

I pull more than my weight, as you do work the least,

Wish to live like an animal? Become a true beast!"

As Merasmus roared the incantation, the words on the paper began to glow a sickening shade of green. Smoke poured from the magician's eyes and mouth, the very ink on the scroll boiling off the paper as each word rung through the room, somehow focusing solely on Jane, who was still sleeping contentedly despite the vile smelling fog that now surrounded him like a thick, wet blanket. It clung to him like glue, seeping into his mouth, into every pore on his skin at a rapid pace but still coming so fast as to obscure him into a billowing black cloud, green lightning flashing and illuminating his sleeping silhouette as though it were behind a simple cloth.

Merasmus at this stage was giggling maniacally as the spell took effect, cackling like a madman, which in this case, he was. Finally, FINALLY, Soldier would stop bothering him, no more pouring all his liquified souls down the sink, no more replacing said expensive, rare fluid with the ashes of those disgusting-smelling cheap cigars he smoked habitually. FINALLY! There would be some order in this place!

The smoke cleared as the spell's effect died down, and what was lying in Jane's place was now a monster that looked somewhat like a minotaur crossed with a werewolf, albeit still in his clothes and still wearing that god-awful helmet. Thick, black fur poked through the ripped seams of the soldier's t-shirt, and a set of gnarly, yellow teeth sat in his head, unmoving, dripping thin threads of saliva onto the launcher. Large claws were cradling the gun now, and a pair of hooves that had shaken off the immaculately polished military boots clicked together when Jane kicked in his sleep. A tail that had somehow grown its way down one trouser leg was wriggling lazily under the heavy-duty cloth in a fruitless attempt to break free.

"Hm." thought Merasmus aloud. "I honestly thought he would turn out a little uglier, but this will just have to suffice." The magician snapped his fingers, a patch of floor around the 'bed' beginning to shift and distort until a large hole opened just below Jane's mattress, which promptly fell into the gaping chasm as large objects tend to do under the influence of gravity, magical or not. The hole then promptly closed back up. Merasmus breathed a sigh of relief and went to the phone in the living room to order some food and put his feet up.

* * *

In all her life, in all of her experiences working with deadly and psychopathic mercenaries, Miss Pauling never thought she'd be held out a window by her feet, least of all in an effort to try and reach a rusty key from a tiny hook a couple of hundred feet off the ground. But yet, there she was, hoping to the highest power she could possibly think of that the drunken scotsman currently holding her out said window wouldn't let go. The fact that she also suffered from an acute, finely-sharpened fear of heights wasn't making her situation any better. Miss Pauling's stomach writhed in knots, threatening to spill their contents into the abyss below and she was beginning to get tunnel-vision from her blood-freezing phobia.

"C-can you bring me a little closer to the wall please?" she whimpered weakly.

"Wot? Cannae hear ye, lass, can ye speak up?" was the muted reply from the room above.

"Closer, please?" Pauling tried to yell. No response came. Instead, Pauling found herself with her nose nearly scraping the wall. Looking about her surroundings, she found that they key was only about a few inches away, close enough to touch with a wing-tip, but too far away to grab quite safely. She inhaled sharply in anticipation.

"Erm, a bit further left, please?" she cried out meekly. "Yes... wait, wait no, nonononononono, right a bit, up a little... ah-ah ah, too much up, okay, okay stop!"

"Ye can reach it then?" the Demoman yelled back.

"Erm, y-yes, I think I can..." Miss Pauling gulped. Thankfully, Tavish had a grip like a vise on her feet, but even then she could still taste the bile rising in her throat as she dangled precariously in front of the key. Squeezing her eyes shut, she opened her mouth and clamped her teeth around the freezing, rusted metal, almost baulking at the bitter taste but still refusing to let go.

"D'ye have it?" Demoman yelled.

"Yes!" Pauling yelled through gritted teeth.

"Alright, I'm pullin' ye back up now, alright?" he replied calmly. "Are ye sure ye've got it?"

"Yes, yes I'm very sure, please pull me up, now!" she cried back. Her clamped shut eyes began to leak tears, and she gave a tortured whine.

"Alright. Jus' stay calm, You'll be back up in a minute-"

"OH FOR GOD'S SAKE TAVISH JUST PULL ME BACK UP!" she screamed.

"Got it!" Demoman yelled back, and with that he pulled the bat holding the key gracefully out of the window like a magician's rabbit out of a hat. Miss Pauling then let go of the key which skittered across the floor. She then proceeded to vomit all over the tattered, threadbare carpet on the floor, the rotting floorboards and even on the Demoman's boots.

He sighed, scooping her into the crook of his elbow where she buried her face into the red fabric of his uniform, hyperventilating and crying in relief. He picked the key up off the floor and dropped it into his pocket, moving the hysterical bat to his shoulder so she could calm down, stroking her back and wings to dampen her frantic sobbing to a soft whine.

"Bloody 'ell, a bat afraid of heights, thas' a new one." he said. "Well done fer gettin' the key though! Y'alright?"

"Mmmyes... th-thank you..." Miss Pauling whimpered.

"Want me t'give ye a minute?" Tavish replied.

"N-no, thank you, let's... let's just get out of here, shall we?" Miss Pauling replied with a quick sniffle, quick to regain her composure.

"Alright then. Yer fine t'go back on th' Eyelander?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm." Miss Pauling hummed in reply. "I-I'm sorry for throwing up on you." she added quietly.

"Nothin' t'apologize about Miss P, I've done that too, quite a few times now t'boot." The Demoman said as he let her hang on the hilt of his sword, now in its sheath on his back. He clapped her twice on the back oafishly but reassuringly, making her swing like a pendulum on her perch.

"...Please don't do that again." Miss Pauling mumbled under her breath.

Tavish took the key out of his pocket and jammed it into the lock. After twisting this way and that until the freezing metal became warm and the rust dug trenches into the skin of his palms, the lock creaked open for the what sounded like the first time in an age. As the door swung outwards, all heat, light and reassurance that everything was eventually going to be fine simultaneously left the room, plunging the pair into darkness. Luckily, the moon was shining that night, and its soft silver glow illuminated a round hallway, a crumbling stone staircase clinging to the chamber wall and leading around and down into a hole too deep to see the bottom of.

So down and around the pair went, their breathing echoing off the walls and condensing to clouds in the frigid air. Their thoughts swam, almost bouncing off the walls and diving in and out of the gloom. Neither one of the pair spoke for an hour, or perhaps two. Each was beginning to get drowsy with the mindless tedium, and after a long and agonizing silence, the Demoman finally spoke up.

"Was 'at door there before?" he asked. His words echoed around the hall, bouncing off stone and amplifying to an almost ear-shattering volume, bringing a few stones from the staircase above come loose and plunge into the deep hole, taking almost a minute to reach the ground. Miss Pauling nearly fell off her perch, the Demoman clapping his hands over his ears hastily until the reverberating words died down into silence.

"Bloody hell!" Miss Pauling whispered harshly with haste. "Not so loud, you could've brought the whole tower down!"

"Sorry," whispered the Demoman "but still, I don' think that 'at door just down there was there before." He pointed over the side of the stair banister. Just one level down was a small door, squat and rectangular, made of stately brown wood and kept in place with black cast-iron hinges. Through the gap between the door and the floor a faint yellow glow could be seen, probably from a lone candle. The pair walked down and stood in front of it, wondering if it was really worth the trouble of having a look inside. Just faintly, behind the door, the low rumble of somebody snoring could be heard.

"Methinks we should pro'lly go inside, what d'ye think?" whispered the Demoman. Miss Pauling thought about it for a minute. _I'm not sure that whoever's in there will be pleased if we wake them up,_ she considered _but, then again, there could be an exit through here. _

"I'm alright with that plan." she replied quietly.

"Alright 'en..." he shrugged back, and slowly opened the door.

Beyond the candle, the room was pitch black. Demoman squinted to see if he could make out anything more, but it was hopeless. He picked the candle up in its stand, and trudged carefully into the dark. A few minutes later, the flickering flame caught a flash. Miss Pauling tapped the Demoman on the shoulder.

"Do you see that?" she whispered.

"What? Where?" he said.

"In the corner, to the left!" she replied. Demoman turned to see what it was. Barely visibly, the candlelight reflected off a deep green military helmet. _Sol? _He thought to himself.

They walked towards the helmet, and the source of the snoring. There, lying on a mattress, was a monster with deep black fur and sharp, yellow fangs. Thankfully, it was sleeping, but what it was wearing was extremely strange. It was wearing the RED Soldier's attire and holding his rocket launcher. Miss Pauling let out a quiet gasp.

"What," she whispered, "is _that?!_" The Demoman looked on in awe.

"_That_, lass," he whispered back. "is a minotaur." He stepped closer, single eye studying the creature like a work of fine art, mumbling excitedly to himself as he did so. His eyes wandered over the jet-coloured fur, the hooves, the bison's horns that curled slightly upwards around what looked like... a buzz cut?

Miss Pauling just tried not to throw up, the smell of the thing was _appalling, _a mixture of rotten halibut and bad sour cream.

"Oh, this is interestin'!" the Demoman suddenly said, "This is not just yer average, common-or-garden minotaur, this is a very rare _cursed_ minotaur!"

"Oh really?" she replied nasally, trying to keep from smelling the foul beast. "What's different about a cursed minotaur, then?"

Demoman turned to her and smiled excitedly, "A cursed minotaur's some poor soul who's been cursed by a wizard t'be a minotaur fer all eternity... Well, they say all eternity, but it's really for only until ye get them into the bath. Funny fact, curses wash right off with soap an' hot water. Me mum used to use tha' threat t'get me te take a bath if I played in the minefields near our house when it was rainin'... Ah, memories..." he trailed off, a stupid smile on his face as he reminisced quietly, thoughts taken back to cloudy days on the moors playing with deactivated mines.

"So, if that thing was human once, could it have been the Soldier?" Miss Pauling managed to get out between gags, snapping the explosives expert out of his reverie.

"Mos' likely. Unless it ate the poor bastard an' took 'is clothes. Let's find out, shall we?" Demoman's smile was replaced with a wicked, malicious grin, and he began to clear his throat.

"Oi!" he said to the beast, nudging it with his foot. Its big, black eyes snapped open, pupils glowing a sickening shade of cloudy green. It, he, whatever it was, lifted itself up from the mattress it was sleeping on, and stood hunched, almost as though it was braced to attack.

"Oh, aren't ye just a majestic creature?" said the Demoman, circling it. The creature grunted and growled, pawing its colossal right hoof against the ground, cracking the knuckles of its left, hand-like claw. Miss Pauling was aghast.

"Tavish, what are you _doing_?!" she cried, voice squeaky with shock and fear.

"So rare ye get t'see one of these up close." he continued, eyes still locked on the minotaur, now bowing its head and pawing its hoof even more furiously.

"Tavish, run!" Miss Pauling cried loudly. The Demoman broke out of his moment.

"Wha- FUCKING HELL!" He bellowed, turning around and making a mad dash for the door just as the monster charged, dropping the candle and letting the whole world be plunged into pitch blackness once again.

* * *

Well, readers. Now it starts getting interesting. I don't think this is the best chapter I've ever written, and that spell... Ohgod... *dies of embarrassment*

I was kind of inspired by that "The Soldier Needs a Home" poem-thingy. And, as I said earlier, feel free to criticize this, edit it, whatever, I like hearing about what improvements I can make to my work.

In the next exciting chapter: A fight scene, the return of the Bombinomicon, and Merasmus finally reveals his dastardly plan in full.


End file.
